


stealing away into the night

by 100demons



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 06:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100demons/pseuds/100demons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: Sherlock/Irene, If I had a heart, you're the one that should break it </p><p>They play cat and mouse through fifteen different countries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stealing away into the night

**Author's Note:**

> written for [elementary ficathon](http://sapphisms.livejournal.com/2600.html?thread=37672#t37672)

Seven o’clock and already there’s a murder in _Le Poisson Rouge_. She makes her way over to the bar and settles down on one of the stools, handing a fiver over to Benny. “The usual,” she requests and soon enough he slides a gin and tonic over her way, generous with the lime. It’s clean and delicious, enough to wash away the bitter taste in her mouth.  
  
“Ms Ader? Irene Adler?”  
  
She raises a brow at the man sitting next to her. “I didn’t really know him,” she says  conversationally and tips her drink back. “None of us did.”  
  
“He didn’t associate with anyone here? Another staff member, a regular, anyone?”  
  
Her lipstick left smudges on the rim of the glass and she half-heartedly wipes it off with a thumb. “No, no. Kept to himself mostly. I don’t know-- he was only here for a month or so, filling in for Jason.”  
  
“Jason?”  
  
“The security guard Arthur replaced. Died of a sudden heart failure.” She gestures at Benny for refill. “Anything else?”  
  
“Yes, if you’d be so kind-- could you explain how you’ve managed to spirit away Cezanne’s _Boy in a Red Waistcoat_ from under the nose of the Serbian government?”  
  
She gives him a sidelong glance and gracefully accepts her refilled glass from Benny. “I think you’ve gotten my confused with someone else. I’m just a poor cabaret singer, Mr....”  
  
“Holmes,” he supplies, blue eyes sharpening as he leans in toward her. “Oh, I don’t doubt that, Ms Adler. But you’re much more than a poor cabaret singer-- art thief, grifter, occasional opera singer. Quite the talented woman. Did Arthur get in your way? Did he find out that you’d stolen a fortune and wanted a cut? Or was he just in the wrong place at the wrong time and heard too much? Like Jason.”  
  
She smiles, all razor-sharp and teeth, faux-exhaustion falling away from her face to reveal a woman transformed. Her dark eyes glitter in the dim light. “You flatter me, Mr Holmes. But guns aren’t exactly my style-- too messy, too bloody and no where near personal enough. I think you’ll find better answers in looking through the manager’s ledgers.” She slides off the stool, silk dress rustling with her movements. “Enjoy your evening,” she says, lightly touching him on the shoulder, before walking away.

\---

He finds her a good two months later in a flat in the 14th arrondissement, lounging in bed and reading, the Cezanne hanging on the wall nearest her.  
  
“Mr Holmes,” she says, lazily putting her book down. “I’ve been expecting you.”  
  
“You were right,” he says abruptly, hands hanging awkwardly at his sides. “It was the manager, Harry-- he had connections to organized crime and Arthur was involved only because he overheard a conversation he shouldn’t have. I-- I wanted to tell you-- before, but--”  
  
“I couldn’t exactly make it easy, could I?” She arched a brow, sunlight glazing her dark skin a golden brown.  
  
“You moved through fifteen different countries,” he says.  
  
She raises a hand and pats the space on the bed next to her. “Sit. You look tired. It’s been a long two months, hasn’t it love?”  
  
“Why did you leave?”  
  
“Why did you follow?” she counters.  
  
“When we first met you smelled of turpentine underneath that heavy perfume you wore, paint under your fingernails, a small print of the painting hanging in your dressing room and an old and crumpled map of Belgrade stuffed in a drawer, as well as a stack of papers in the recycling bin-- all from the same day that news of the theft broke out.” He licks his lip, stuffing his hands into his coat pocket. “You knew what Harry was doing. Kept quiet but you warned him every now and then that the dirty money would end up killing someone. You sing in dirty cabarets by night and steal art by day. In the morning, you like to have a cup of tea, two sugars, no milk, with a blueberry muffin.”  
  
“Come here,” she says again, gently and this time he obeys. He settles down on the edge of her bed, his long legs stretched awkwardly. She leans in, mouth almost touching the soft shell of his ear and whispers, “Trust me.” Her long fingers are curled in his hair and she tugs him down on the bed until he’s lying down and she’s straddling him.  
  
“I don’t think--”  
  
She hushes him, finger on his mouth. “I’ve been waiting a very, very long time, Mr Holmes.”  
  
He smiles and kisses her finger. “I’ve caught you now,” he says and it sounds like a promise.


End file.
